


A Scandal in Baker Street (and sometimes in Belgravia)

by SStar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Crossdressing, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Established Relationship, F/M, Genderbending, M/M, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, a smidge of kinky stuff, holmescest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SStar/pseuds/SStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had found himself clutching at the fine fabric to ward off the compulsion to stalk across the room before their battle was over. He bit back a gasp, his skin sensitive after almost an hour of their game, of advances and tactical retreats, played on the game-board of their bodies.</p><p>What if Sherlock was The Woman, was Irene Adler? A re-imagining of A Scandal in Belgravia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, but edited many times - all mistakes are my own I'm afraid. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to ACD, Moffat and Gatiss and the BBC. I own nothing but my own filthy mind.
> 
> Author's note: A story in five parts, not all of which is just smut (although given some of my other projects, I found this chapter of smut the quickest to write - although I couldn't comment on quality!). Quite frankly, I think Mycroft is the bee's knees and I'm a romantic at heart under all the snark and ice so a happy end shall be had, even if I'm going to the fiery pits of hell for writing incest! I rarely write F/M but I do hope this works and you enjoy it.

Mycroft hips bucked and his eyes fluttered shut as he shivered from tip to toe, his cock smacked obscenely against his body and left a wet smear along his abdomen. He let go of the bed sheet that had become tangled in his grasp, dragging his index finger through the pre-come; he had found himself clutching at the fine fabric to ward off the compulsion to stalk across the room before their battle was over. He bit back a gasp, his skin sensitive after almost an hour of their game, of advances and tactical retreats, played on the game-board of their bodies.

He opened his eyes and sought out the figure reclined on the white chaise longue across the bedroom; a dark eyebrow rose in challenge as he brought the tip of his wet finger to his mouth. He waited for a signal, seconds feeling like minutes – _there it was_ – a flare of nostrils, the sharp intake of breath. He smirked, satisfied with the victory of this small skirmish as he lapped at the fluid coating his finger, tasting himself.

Mycroft pictured a metronome in his mind and set his breathing to the steady pattern as he waited; a languid moan broke like thunder on a dark, humid summer’s night, echoing between the thick walls of their bedroom. The next charge in their battle had commenced and Mycroft’s attention was fixed upon his companion. Face tilted towards the ceiling exposing the long, graceful neck – _trust_ – brunette curls contrasted against porcelain skin, back arched with a hand partly hidden between slightly parted thighs. Although his view was blocked, he knew those slim fingers were busy. A simple enough deduction – _the smell of arousal heavy in the air_ – left hand curled into the leather of the chaise longue, leaving indents that were slow to disappear.

A movement at the corner of his vision caught his attention; a tilt of the head, turned to face in his direction. Mycroft has a flash of memory. His fingers tangled in the dark, soft hair, tugging at luxurious locks to bring soft lips up so he can taste and bite. He barely stops the gasp escaping him. His sharp gaze skimmed over an expanse of pale skin, lingering for a long moment on swollen lips before connecting with darkened – _aroused_ – sultry eyes. A mirror to his own, he knew, dilated pupils circled by a thin band of blue. He sees the quick flash of pink tongue wetting the puffy lower lip before those bewitching eyes flicked down, a clear command for the older man to direct his own in the same direction. To legs now spread wide apart, fingers in plain view as they slid in and out of a wet cunt.

 _Fuck._ Mycroft jerked, his body wrenched by invisible strings until he found himself on his knees at the edge of the bed, leaning forwards. _Attack, retreat or concede?_

Her right leg – _slim and oh so long, how they felt wrapped around him_ – with gently curved calves atop a pair of wickedly high heeled shoes is raised to rest on the seat itself, giving Mycroft a more pleasing view. He watched her thumb as it circled a glistening clit, fingers that were slicker with every thrust; breathing that became more ragged as her eyes fluttered. Mycroft’s pulse pounded in his ears as his breath caught in his throat and he palmed his cock – once, twice.

_Concede._

With only three strides he found himself in front of the chaise longue, dropping to his knees. He batted her hand away as he tilted his face up, reading triumph in the quirk of red-painted lips and eyes that were darkened with lust but shone with delight.

“Surely you must be the embodiment of Peitho herself,” Mycroft growled. “What you do to me, _Sherlock_.”

She laughed at his declaration. In retaliation he grabbed her hips and pulled them to the edge of the seat, her legs sat astride his body. Her laughter turned into a sharp intake of air as Mycroft lowered his lips to a bare thigh and licked a path up to the crease where leg and hips met.

“For God’s sake,” she huffed as he pressed light, teasing kisses to the smooth skin of her mons, delighting in the fine tremors of her body. “Get on with it – _I won_. Stop bloody teasing me.”

In response Mycroft pushed at her legs, spreading them wider and exposing her fully to him. He trailed his tongue, in an irregular pattern, at her most sensitive spots – sliding between her labia, lazy flicks at her clit and dipping into her occasionally – tasting, devouring her. Sherlock moaned, shifting her body to better press against him; her fingers twisted in his short hair and tugged in rebuke when his mouth strayed too far away for her liking. His fingers traced the sensitive skin at the back of Sherlock’s knees as he returned his attention to her cunt; stiffening his tongue Mycroft entered her, fucking her slowly.

As he felt her trembling grow stronger he moved his mouth to her clit, quickly replacing the tongue in her with two fingers. They slid inside her easily – _so open and ready for him_ – suckled at her swollen clit at the same time as he roughly drove his fingers in and out of her wet hole. He varied the pressure of his mouth and tongue on her sensitive nub as his long fingers curled inside her, finding that right spot and he pressed.

“ _Mycroft_ ,” she whimpered as she came. Her whole body shuddered against and around him, clenching around his fingers still deep inside of her. Her fingers curled into his shoulders leaving small crescent marks, the slight sting of pain adding to his own need.

He raised himself onto the chaise longue, rearranging Sherlock’s relaxed body until she was pressed up against him, from groin to shoulders, his throbbing cock pressed between their bodies. Mycroft turned his head and captured her lips, letting Sherlock taste herself as they shared sweet, languid kisses. Before long the kisses turned harder – he bit at her blood-red painted lips – became more demanding. With one hand he pulled his sister’s slim hips closer to his own. The other he raised to cup her breast, rubbing and pinching the nipple until it was hard before moving to the other until her breath hitched with each subsequent brush of fingers against sensitive skin.

The singular focus of his impressive mind – _desire, want, need, love_ – upon his precious sister – _challenging,_ _lover, temptress, beautiful_ – was broken by the sound of a ringing phone. Mycroft, had he not been distracted by the naked lapful of his beautiful Sherlock, would have been mortified that it took him several seconds to recognise the ringing mobile phone as his own. As soon as he realised this fact his body tensed, years of learned behaviour directing him to find the damned thing and take the call. He knew his narrowed eyes, eyeing where his clothes lay, meant Sherlock would deduce his thoughts with no effort. Even a goldfish would have been able to read his thoughts, much to his embarrassment.

“Don’t you _bloody_ dare, Mycroft,” she threatened, pinching the soft skin at his waist hard enough to leave bruises that would take days to disappear, even as she ground her body against his weeping cock. “Answer that call ‘ _for Queen and Country_ ’ and I’ll make your life an absolute misery, _brother mine_.”

“And how exactly is that any different to our present state of public affairs. I haven’t yet forgotten that mess with the Bruce-Partington plans and Moriarty, Sherlock,” Mycroft huffed at his delightful sister but nevertheless ignored his phone and it soon stopped ringing.

Instead he nuzzled her, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach skin; his hands traced the curve of her spine until they rested on the gentle swell of her arse, pulling it closer as Sherlock shifted her hips in an attempt to increase the friction between her slick cunt and his cock, leaking and darker in tone against an expanse of their pale skin.

“My dear,” he muttered the endearment into her neck, seeking but not finding – _control hanging by a rapidly fraying thread_ – this was always the inevitable conclusion to this game of theirs, they both had to concede before the game ended. “I need to … _Sherlock_. I can’t … it won’t be. _Fuck._ Do you, may I?” He was incoherent with his need – _urgency_ – to be deep in her _right now_ ; he shifted their bodies until she was in just the right position.

“Oh God, yes,” she urged, breathlessly. “ _Always_ , Mycroft.”

With her permission, her capitulation added to his own – _this game is over_ – Mycroft tugged her down and he slid his cock into her warm, slick cunt with a loud grunt. Sherlock gasped, her forehead falling to rest on his shoulder, her face in the crook of his neck, as she angled her pelvis so that he was buried deep in her in that one thrust. With his last scrap of control he ruthlessly clamped down on his desire to grind into her body, waiting for his sister to adjust to him. “Fuck,” he uttered, almost breathless. “You are utterly exquisite, my dear.”

“Sentiment, brother mine?” Sherlock panted into his ear, leaving a wet trail as she licked a path across curves, before lifting her head to stare at him. Her pupils dilated with arousal, revealing want and need. “Oh, for God’s sake! Why aren’t you moving already?”

Mycroft snorted, amused by his sister’s perpetual impatience, the only warning he gave her. His fingers dug into her hips as he began to move – _withdraw, thrust and repeat_ – as she shifted her hips to meet him, their movements easy with years of experience. He noted the flush that crept up her body, how she bit her already swollen lips as her body responded to stimulus as they moved together and trembles that became shivers. He pulled Sherlock’s arms to his chest, giving her leverage to shift her body against his which allowed him to move one of his hands from her hip, relocating it to her wet pussy.

He traced the curves of her swollen labia, savoured how she stretched around him as he fucked her. His thrusts sped up, driven by his need for her, the slap of their bodies echoing in the room. He moved his fingers back to her clit, rubbing little circles around it, breaking off to flick it now and then.

“ _Mycroft_ ,” she keened. “My-love, Mycroft! Oh, _yes_.”

He felt Sherlock’s rhythm falter as she ground herself on him; he increased the pace and pressure of his fingers on her clit, bringing her closer to her climax. His thrusts became shallower as they rocked against each other, the increased friction where their bodies met added fire the heat coiling deep in his gut. Their mouths found each other; lips and tongue slid against each other with wet, hard kisses, desperate sucks of sore lips, exchanges of hot air as they panted into each other’s mouths. His own movements became more irregular. Not long now he realised with a shudder.

Gathering the last of his reserves, he pounded into her – once, twice. At the same time he pinched at the sensitive skin of her labia, knowing that the sharp sting would set the pleasure-pain neurons in her mind ablaze.

“Come for me, my dear,” he demanded in a voice thick with desire. To his delight, her entire body tensed for a long moment before she came, her second time – only _for him like this_ – with a series of breathless gasps and whimpers. Sherlock’s internal muscles flexed around his cock and Mycroft realised he had jumped off the precipice into his own orgasm, as his sister’s body continued to tremble against his body with the aftershock of her climax.

He thrust into Sherlock one last time, rocking deep as he came, pulsing inside her with a deep growl of satisfaction. Mycroft fell back against the gentle rise of the chaise longue moving Sherlock with him, her face resting upon his shoulder as he held her in his embrace. They kissed again. Light fluttering touches as they came back down, taking the time to enjoy the intimacy in the privacy of their room. Both aware that time waits for no man, nor Holmes. Once they left this house, their barrier to the world outside, their masks – the ones they wore as they went into battle against life and sometimes even each other – would be firmly fixed on their faces.

Until the next time they were able to come together. _Their game is always on._


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft tugged his waistcoat, patting down the fabric of his suit, making sure everything was as it should be before he walked into the front reception room. He’d always liked the simple but elegant décor that served to accentuate without being overly ostentatious. But for him, the main attraction to the room was the large bay windows that drew his gaze each time and flooded the room with natural light.

His assistant, who had been sat tapping away at a tablet computer with a slightly pensive look on her face, stopped as he entered the room. Her face relaxed fractionally. “Sir, there was a call while you were indisposed,” she greeted him.

“Yes I’m aware. I was involved in some rather indelicate negotiations at the time and didn’t have leave to take the call-” he explained.

Sherlock, of course, chose that moment to sweep into the room. Still barefoot – _that explained the lack of audible footsteps_ – and covered only by the cream bed sheet wrapped around her body. “Indelicate negotiations?” she repeated with a laugh. “Is that was you governmental busy-bodies are calling it nowadays?” she teased, sharing a conspiratorial look with the younger woman.

“Sherlock,” he admonished. “Are you certain it’s appropriate to traipse about wearing just that, my dear?”

“It’s not as if I’m leaving the house, Mycroft,” his sister replied with a wicked smile. He watched as she sashayed towards his assistant, greeting her with a hug and kiss to both cheeks. “How lovely to actually see you this time, I do hope my horrendous older brother isn’t keeping you working too hard, Andrea. Or are you still partial to Anthea?”

His assistant blushed much to Mycroft’s bemusement. “Andrea is fine. I’ve also completed a sweep of the house, well the unoccupied rooms,” she confirmed sharing a smile with Sherlock. “There’s nothing that I could detect, Miss Holmes, although I would continue with your usual team on a regular basis.”

“Ah, yes. That would be John and I. Keeps us occupied when things are a little slow here and there.”

Andrea smirked at the mention of the doctor. “And where is John today?”

Sherlock’s sheet slipped a little as she gestured wildly with her hand. “Oh somewhere,” she exclaimed. “I’ve a case that’s possibly mildly interesting so I sent him out to gather the data. He should be back later today. Shall I pass on your regrets on missing him?”

“I’m sure the usual will be more than fine.”

“Darling, you’re such a tease. Are you sure I can’t tempt you away from Mycroft?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft decided the inane conversation had gone on long enough and sent a pointed look towards at his assistant. “Of course, sir. The car’s waiting outside,” she replied to his unspoken question.

“I’ll be out in just a moment,” he said. Andrea threw a warm smile at Sherlock before making her way out of the room and the house, resuming her work using the tablet in her hands. Mycroft turned back to look at his younger sister, indicating she should proceed before him as they too made their way into the grand entrance hall. “Really, prancing around in just a bed sheet? I had hoped to see you in that lovely white Alexander McQueen, Sherlock. I thought I saw it hanging in your closet just now?”

He frowned as his sister threw a knowing look at him and came to stand in front of him. “The one you bought for my last birthday? That’s not one to waste on just any person.”

“I am not just any person.”

“Of course not, brother mine. However my state of dress had a purpose and I’m pleased to say your Andrea passed.”

Mycroft cocked his head as he took in his smug sister with narrowed eyes. “Andrea? Really Sherlock, where do you get these fanciful ideas?”

His sister gave an elegant shrug, the movement drawing his attention to the expanse of skin that was being revealed. “I think I’d rather fancy a little shopping trip with her. It’s ever so dull with only Kate with me and you’ve never deigned to accompany me.” He couldn’t hold back the look of horror at the idea of soliciting the myriad of couture and designer shops that Sherlock frequented. “Precisely,” she spat. “Full of insipid creatures and utterly trying. The least you could do is keep me company and provide some amusement.”

“Perhaps I can spare Andrea for a day,” he offered hastily.

Sherlock quirked her eyebrow at him – _his quick capitulation_ – a split-second before she let go of the sheet covering her. The fabric pooled at her feet as she leant into him and he felt her curves brush against his own as she pressed her lips to his. He deepened the kiss for a long moment, his hands brushing against the pale skin at her hips, before gathering his control and pulling back. “My dear, you are a terror of a tease but I really must go,” he murmured into her neck as he felt her lips wander to his cheek and jaw.

Suddenly she was a few feet away gathering the fallen sheet to cover her body once more, lips curled into a smirk. “Of course, Mycroft. Do try not to start any new wars, I have an engagement across town this evening and I would hate for central London to come to a standstill at your doing.”

He rolled his eyes at the suggestion. “I’ll try not to, Sherlock.”

With that statement he offered her a parting nod before walking to the front door and leaving the house and as soon as he was in his car and settled, Andrea confirmed their next destination to his driver who started the engine and made to enter the traffic-filled streets that plagued the capital. Mycroft turned to his assistant but her smirk stopped the questions he was about to ask. To his surprise, she reached out and with her thumb brushed at his jawline.

“It appears you’ve were graced with a parting gift, sir,” she explained before reaching for her bag. A second later, she pressed a wet wipe to his face and rubbed at the offending area. Mycroft bore the touch as best he could, supressing the urge to shudder and shift away. His phone buzzed as Andrea pulled away.

**_Did you enjoy my little surprise? SH_ **

**_A merely trifling irritation that can be simply cleared away. Unlike yourself, my dear. M_ **

**_Oh Mycroft. How disappointingly dull you persist in being. SH_ **

**_Perhaps your time would be better spent keeping yourself occupied and out of trouble. M_ **

**_Kate is doing something awfully boring and John won’t be back for ages so what else is left for me but to amuse myself? Besides my only appointment is a member of the Cabinet today and he’s an utter dullard as you know. SH_ **

**_I have utterly no desire to know any details, as you very well know. M_ **

**_Unless it helps you out – don’t deny it. SH_ **

**_Do try not to misbehave too much. I would hate to intervene. M_ **

**_I’d like to see you try! SH_ **

“Sir, we’re almost there.”

Mycroft looked up from the files he’d been readying. “Did the message mentioned why I’m required at the Palace?”

Andrea shook her head. “Just that you come at your earliest convenient,” she confirmed. “I contacted Harry before you got into the car and he said that he’ll meet you in Yellow Room. If I might be so bold, he sounded rather relieved that you were available so soon.”

Mycroft hummed as he ran through the few incidents that would require _his_ unscheduled attendance at the Palace. None of which would present an imminent danger to the country therefore the balance of probability meant the issue involved a personal matter. “Andrea, can you have updated files on all senior members of the royal household ready for me at the office. I’ll need recent movements in and out of the country, any new acquaintances who haven’t been vetted by the Services or ourselves. We may need to avail ourselves of some CCTV footage so best to get that requisition in too.”

He’d barely finished speaking and his ever efficient assistant was already tapping away on her own phone as the car came to a halt outside a non-descript entrance. “On it. It’ll be waiting at the office when we get there,” she confirmed.

Mycroft nodded and reached for the handle to open the car door. _Into battle._

 

* * *

 

“Do let them in,” Mycroft asked his assistant, who passed him the file he needed for his next meeting. “Thank you, Andrea. If you could perhaps ensure you capture the information I require and send it to my own?”

“Of course,” his assistant confirmed before leaving the room momentarily. He could her gentle tones as she directed his visitors into his _official_ office at Whitehall.

 _Footsteps._ One much lighter but yet louder than the other, sounding in a slightly offset rhythm – _one male, one female wearing heels, mid-heels, just to the side and behind the male so a subordinate colleague but used to working with one another_ – not that Mycroft needed to deduce those so simple facts. He had, after all, invited Detective Inspector Lestrange and Detective Sergeant Donovan to his office.

He greeted the two detectives with a grim smile of welcome. “Please, take a seat,” he offered.

The Detective inspector quickly settled himself although his colleague a little more tentative, however it was obvious to him that the DI was somewhat more nervous about this visit, most likely as a result of their previous meetings which had involved Sherlock in some capacity. Sergeant Donovan on the other hand, he had never met before, although he felt he knew her well enough given Sherlock’s stark and uncensored commentary.

Mycroft relaxed back into his own chair. “I have a matter that is of an incredibly delicate nature hence the somewhat furtive nature of this meeting.”

Lestrange leant forwards, looking interested. “Really?”

Mycroft wondered whether the man was becoming inured to the various crimes he faced on a daily basis. “Indeed. It is of the highest security and therefore I must ask for your utmost discretion,” he confirmed. “Any mistake on that part on your behalf will be met by a disproportionate response I’m afraid.”

He noticed that the younger detective appeared to be caught between a desire to scowl and maintaining a blasé expression. No doubt she was aware of his relation to Sherlock and was trying to not let it influence her behaviour towards him. “Why us? If it’s as serious as you say then shouldn’t you involve the spooks at MI5 or MI6? Or even _Sherlock Holmes_?” Donovan challenged.

Mycroft tilted his head in her direction. “At this time, Sherlock is unfortunately unavailable to assist and I’m afraid this is a matter where I must proceed with caution and stealth.”

Lestrade looked bemused. “You don’t trust our own spies to do whatever this is?”

Mycroft huffed. “Of course not. They’re paid to spy on people.”

“You’re a sly one, Mycroft. You’re not going to give up your real reasons I’m sure. I presume you’ve cleared whatever you want with the Super?” the DI responded, as he ignored his colleague’s surprised look.

Mycroft nodded, unsurprised that the no-nonsense Detective Inspector had accepted his reasoning, as he slid the closed file on his desk towards his visitors. He waited as the two detectives flicked through the two photographs he had chosen to include. “The problem involves the individual in that file. Do you recognise her?”

Sergeant Donovan nodded. “I’ve seen that face, only the once mind, but it’s a face you wouldn’t forget. She’s famously private and there are only rumours about her. Irene,” she replied. “Irene Adler.”

“Correct,” Mycroft confirmed with a tight smile. “In certain circles, Ms Adler is rather well known professionally as _The Woman_.”

The two detectives share a quick look before speaking at the same time. “The Woman?” “Professionally?”

“The Woman can perhaps be more accurately described as a dominatrix,” Mycroft offered.

Lestrade’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, while Donovan’s eyes narrowed – _stereotypical reactions split along gender bias in response the concept of domination_ – Mycroft observed. “She provides a service whereby clients experience their unknown, unrealised desires.”

Thankfully both detectives chose to keep any further comments to themselves, possibly a reaction to the forbidding scowl he knew he sported, an expression he had no intention of changing in the immediate future. “Ms Adler, it appears, has collected some compromising photographs. Ones we would prefer not to appear in the public domain,” he continued, holding back a sigh at finding himself having to explain each last detail. “I am reliably informed that the photographs are secured on some sort of device, a phone one presumes, however our intelligence also confirms that Ms Adler is ferociously protective about her privacy and certainly wouldn’t appreciate the infamy that would come about if she did choose to release these images.”

The look that Donovan bestowed upon him would have made lesser men flinch. “You want us to … to _steal_ this device?”

Mycroft let the corner of his lip curl. “Steal is such an ugly word, Sergeant. I am merely asking you to hold a conversation and if you happen to persuade her to part with this device, _without any harm_ to Ms Adler, well I’m sure we could consider that a fortunate outcome.”

“And if we don’t? Manage to successfully _acquire_ this device, I mean?”

Mycroft appropriated the look of the calm, collected civil servant of Her Majesty’s government that he professed to be. “In such a scenario I shall revert to plan B.”

Lestrade stared at him and Mycroft could almost see the connections fall into place. “You don’t actually expect us to succeed? So why bother with the charade?”

“To succeed one does not need to win the battle. Sometimes an appropriate amount of pressure on a certain front can cause an impact leading to a successful outcome,” Mycroft offered.

The DI snorted. “Riddles. I don’t know who’s worse, you or Sherlock.”

Mycroft huffed. “I assure you, Detective Inspector. Insulting me will not excuse you from this assignment.”

“You do realise there are real criminals out there that we could be pursuing. Actual crimes to solve rather than this game you want us to play?” Donovan spat.

“And this is a request from Her Majesty’s government, Sergeant Donovan,” Mycroft responded politely. “Will you refuse such a request?”

“Alright Mycroft. I’ve already said we’ll do whatever it is you want us to do. Once I get it over and done with then I can get back to trying to solve some actual cases,” Lestrade interrupted, sending his subordinate a glare that clearly told the Sergeant to not argue any further. “Although I must say it makes a change from your usual, Mycroft. Can’t imagine what you’ll have me do next but I’d sure like it if you’d send me off on a holiday! Are you sure you don’t want to involve Sherlock?”

Mycroft nodded at the older man. “It’s not a case of not wanting. In fact, I’d probably go so far as to say that Sherlock is likely aware. Unfortunately this case wouldn’t interest Sherlock. I imagine a response of it being far too obvious and dull.”

“Yeah,” Lestrade agreed with a laugh. “I can imagine Sherlock saying those words. Loudly.”

“I’m sure we’ve all had the pleasure of that experience,” Mycroft commented in a dry tone. “I presume you’ll be able to provide an update before the day’s end?”

Lestrade, holding onto the folder, nodded in both agreement and a farewell as he stood and made his way out of his office, the younger woman on his heels. As soon as they had left Mycroft’s attention turned to his phone, waiting for the message that he knew would arrive almost immediately, but he still heard the faint comment from the opinionated Sergeant Donovan. “That was _Mycroft Holmes?_ You know he’s just as odd as Sherlock? I bet he’s a psychopath too. Who in their right mind asks the police to _steal_ something?”

“Mycroft Holmes is the most dangerous man you’ll ever meet, Donovan. Keep that in mind. Best to just get on with whatever he wants. At least he confirmed he didn’t expect us to be successful. I’ve had worse before,” was the even fainter reply that he caught.

At that moment his phone finally buzzed with the expected message and Mycroft set to the task of selecting a few of the best shots and started to compose a message.

**_I’m sending you a treat._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the idea of what if Sherlock was 'The Woman' but also the world's only Consulting Detective. A re-imagining of ASiB but very much about the Mycroft / Sherlock relationship - snarky, sexy and sassy.
> 
> This fic won't cover the realism and practicalities of genderplay. There are fanfic writers much more informed (and talented) than I who cover it with realism and care. Sherlock being female is just the tool for this particular story and any details will be brief in order to progress the story or porn.
> 
> Would you believe me if I said this was meant to just be a short intro of 300 words ... whoopsie!


End file.
